Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes it's only madness that makes us what we are.

She still heard that laugh in her dreams, nightmares really. A confusing swell of fear and desire shooting her into wakefulness. The blonde would shoot up in bed, sweat coursing down her face as she fought against the constricting confines of her blankets. No. No no no. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't filled with wanting. She was an intelligent, educated psychologist for Pete’s sake! She’d take deep breaths, calming her mind, replacing the fear and desire with anger. He'd done a real number on her brain, and she wasn't sure how long it would take to piece Harleen back together out of the shattered pieces that made Harley Quinn. Maybe she couldn't, but she was going to try.

What a ride it had been, since that fateful day back in Gotham when a bright young gal, fresh from school, thought she could tackle the most perverse mind out of the bunch. She was so sure she could figure out what made him tick, cure him. And oh how charming he had been. The devil sure had fooled her. How had she not seen it? Shaking her head she pushed the blankets away and slid out of bed.

Some days it seemed her brain wouldn't shut off, and it looked like today was going to be one of them.

As she went about her morning routine her mind slid back over her time with the monster who called himself the Joker. The abuse, the mistreatment... all the things she'd let him do to her, all the things the sick freak had trained her to enjoy. A shudder ran down her spine and she glared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, spitting toothpaste angrily into the sink. Damnit Harley, no more fear! That was the mantra! A scowl darkening her pretty face she finished up, setting aside the face paint for today. What she needed this morning wasn't lunacy, it was clarity. There were still places in this crazy town that didn't recognize her without the jester getup, and she was going out today to be a human being. To be herself, not the pathetic creature he had molded her into.

A small smile tilted up the corner of her mouth. He thought she was so dumb, but in the end, she'd orchestrated the perfect escape. The more he thought she wanted him, the less he wanted her. The madman thought he had cast her aside, but she'd finally manipulated the manipulator. She hadn't been abandoned, she'd been set free. Being underestimated was a super power all on its own.

Harley dressed, business casual, just as she had a thousand mornings at Arkham, before him. Maybe her skirts were still a little short, but she was still young and the barista at the corner coffee shop was a cutie. Before leaving she paused at the mirror, admiring the way her jacket highlighted the trimness of her waist. Her face looked so different now, free from makeup and heavy bruises.

She skipped down the stairs and around the block, just one of a thousand people milling about in the before-work throng. She gave her extra brilliant smile to the young man behind the counter, the pair of them flirting back and forth the entire time he made her mocha, extra sweet. What a treat it was, interacting with someone nice, being normal. Soon though, the strain was too much for her healing psyche and she waved a cheery goodbye, taking her liquid confection and heading back home.

She looked down, checking her watch. Twenty minutes! A new record in normalcy. Every day this week she'd been able to maintain the semblance of sanity a little longer, and really, what was normal but a facade? If she faked it long enough, it would be real. That's what she kept telling herself at least. No one could keep her down. She had all the tools she needed to fix herself, and the freedom to accomplish it. She inhaled deeply. Today was a good day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harleen stood in the one functioning bathroom within the Funhouse, staring at her reflection. Lightly she skimmed her fingertips over the vicious bite marks marring her bottom lip and part of her cheek. She followed the trail of destruction all across her visage, the handprint firmly stamped into her cheek and temple, the swollen black eye. With a sigh, she pulled out the thick greasepaints she used to concoct the face that was Harley Quinn, restructuring a bit where needed, until there was no trace of the battered girl that had been there moments before. As a final touch she added a thick swipe of black lipstick. Every little mistake could just be painted over as she put on the face that belonged to him. It was so much easier than seeing the damage.

The jester stepped back, appraising her work carefully before slithering into the one piece gymnast uniform, more cuts and bruises disappearing underneath the rather covering garment. She twisted and turned in the mirror, ensuring that all signs of her puddin's attentions were hidden. She couldn't help but give her reflection a small, triumphant smile. It was taking less and less time to cover these things. Either she was getting smarter, or he was getting gentler. She sighed, tugging her hair up into its customary pigtails. That perversion of innocence that made the madman grin.

Like mother like daughter, she supposed. You love most what hurts you best. She tilted her head, pasting the blank smile on her face. A genius level IQ and an MD in her pocket, but here she was, Yes-Girl and punching bag to a psychotic killer, crawling back to him every time freedom loomed on the horizon. If she was still a psychiatrist she'd have a diagnosis or two for herself. She’d let him take that from her too, though, and so she had to work with what she had left.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

So perhaps the bazooka was a overdoing it a bit, but when a gal was all discombobulated, she should go for the big gesture. Sometimes big emotions required some serious destruction to get the mind all back in working order. So here she was, eleven in the morning on a Thursday, liberating the animals at a pet store, with a bazooka over her shoulder. She liked her bazooka. She was thinking of calling him Dennis. She grinned down at the terrified clerks as they opened up dozens of cages, letting the rats and rabbits and whatnot free.

"That's right folks. Set 'em free! They don't want to be under your control anymore! No one can contain them! Hahaahhah-" She stopped mid-laugh. No no no. That wasn't her; that was him. She wasn't him. She wasn't his twisted little toy, neither. She was Harley Quinn, and with her trusty Dennis at her side she'd spread a few laughs and a little misery and let life fill in the balance. Once the last rodent was free she jumped down off the counter, swinging Dennis down to rest at her side. "Well, this has been a real gas, folks, but I gotta blow before the pigs show. Say no to neutering!" A last broken giggle managed to escape her before she popped out the door, scooping up a guinea pig on the way by and setting it on her shoulder.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A mad giggle escaped the blonde jester's painted lips, and she grabbed her hat, pulling it down tight as if it could contain the insanity trying to poke through her frown of concentration. It was astonishing how long it took to tie bowties around the necks of 200 assorted hamsters, rabbits, rats and guinea pigs. Still, with Mister Fibbles finally adorned, she had completed dressing up the entire cast of critters that had been liberated during her earlier pet shop heist.

Dropping an affectionate kiss on his little brown nose, Harley placed the guinea pig into the box with his well dressed compatriots, bouncing to her feet and taking a minute to stretch, shaking the bells on her hat and making them jingle. What a laugh this would be, a real prank, none of that malicious stuff that he used to get up to. Wayne Enterprises was hosting some hoity-toity black-tie affair tonight. Well, her little guests were dressed to impress and ready to party amidst the wealthy elite. Whispering affectionately she closed the box and hauled it out to the van she'd stolen earlier, placing it gently on top of one of the other dozen or so such boxes back there.

"Showtime, my babies."

Careening madly through the streets, Harley had a brief lucid moment where she considered the fact that she might want to get a driver's license one of these days, but shook it off in exchange for the fun she was about to indulge in. Though she had opted out of conforming to the (stolen) invitation’s dress code, and instead worn her preferred red and black gymnast ensemble, she was rather enthusiastic about seeing what the top tier of Gotham society were decked out in tonight. Besides, it had taken so long to get her little friends ready, she never would have had time to compete.

It took longer than anticipated to get all the boxes full of critters into the Wayne building, and she sincerely regretted having to knock those nice guards out and leave them tied up in the van, but she couldn't allow her prank to be ruined. She was barely ready, and just as they announced the guest of honour, Bruce Wayne, she began pouring well dressed rodents down the stairwell into the grand assembly chamber. Soon the screeching of well bred young ladies echoed from the rafters, and Harls had to hold her mouth shut to keep from laughing, instead she pressed her face against the railings, watching in childish glee as the rich and famous skittered about to avoid the 'filthy rodents'. What a laugh! What a success! She even heard a few snickers from some of the more self-possessed societal members. HA! She'd done it! Gotten a real laugh! That would show that green-haired monster who was really funny. Letting out a crowing chuckle of glee she bounced down the stairs towards the exit. She wanted to be seen, but not caught after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What a strange sensation, waking up alone in a bed was. Harleen... she was trying to be Harleen a little more each day, particularly in the morning, Harleen slowly sat up and stretched, a small frown playing across her lips. All her protestations, but she kinda missed waking up by a grouchy Mister J kicking her in the side until she fell out of bed. It really woke a girl up in the morning.

She slid out of bed and trudged over to the bathroom. Boring, boring, boring. She went about getting ready for her day, no dodging projectiles, no scowling sadist to poke and prod at. Just normal, routine activities like every other normal person in Gotham. Was she going to be normal now? She drew a large smiling face in the fog on the bathroom mirror, and then leaned her head against it. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? Normality? Routine? Rules? Everything she had so cavalierly tossed aside... she had it back if she wanted it.

The first week had been fun, the second week? Not so much. She was lonely. All her friends... okay... her two friends were always busy. At Mister J's place there had always been someone to talk to. And she missed her hyenas almost as much as the crazed clown himself. Could she do this? Did she really have the strength to be on her own?

She carefully tied her hair into a pair of pigtails, glaring at the reflection in the mirror, wiping the smile from the condensation with an angry swipe. It wasn't like it really mattered. She wouldn't go crawling back, he wouldn't come fetch her. They were at an impasse and she'd just have to move on. Really, it was better this way. Preferable even. Wasn’t it?

Chapter Text

Harley stepped into the coffee shop, just as she had every morning for the past two weeks. No matter how unsure she was about her recovery, the place had become a touchstone. Here was where her sanity started, slowly spreading into the rest of her, a little more each day. She paused just inside the door, unsure. Something was different here. Something had changed, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The place was quieter, the familiar buzz of friendly voices a subdued hum in the morning air. The former psychiatrist ran her gaze around the room. Where was the cute barista? Had he quit? The mood rendering her more sedate, Harley moved to the counter, the question she didn’t quite ask showing in her eyes as the girl behind the counter met her look. The girl, her nametag read Jenna, sniffed, her lip quivering. “Mornin’ Jenna, where’s Stefan? He’s usually at the counter durin’ this shift.”

A slow tear tracked down the girl’s face, and she reached up to wipe it away with the back of her hand. “Oh miss, I know he always enjoyed when you came in. Steffi was murdered yesterday. His boyfriend found him lying in the living, his face contorted into some kind of maniacal grin.” Jenna’s voice lowered. “They’re saying it was the Joker, but they can’t figure out why. Steffi is just a barista, he was studying music at Gotham University. What could he have done to get on the bad side of a crazy criminal?”

Quinzel backed away from the counter with one quick step, a hand clutched to her chest as guilt and denial warred on her features. She just knew this was her fault, but she didn’t want it to be, tried to think of some way it wasn’t. Her mind was a blank, and tears streamed freely from her big blue eyes. Apparently it didn’t matter that J had tossed her aside like so much garbage, the bastard didn’t like people playing with his toys. “I… I’m so sorry…” She turned away, looking out the door, her mind processing a million thoughts at once. She had to deal with this, head on. If he didn’t want her, he couldn’t force her to be alone forever. She didn’t want to leave Gotham either.

Jenna’s expression was full of sympathy. “I know you were friends. We’re having a memorial service for him on Saturday if you’d like to come by. Steffi always said you were a bit of a loner, but it’s good to have people around during times like this.”

Harley turned back around to look at the girl, the last of her tears drying on a face set with grim determination. “I can’t make Satahday. Sorry. I’m sorry fah yah loss.” The former jester whirled around, heading for the exit, another twinge of guilt pricking her at the way Jenna’s face fell. Not Jenna, the barista. Until she settled things with J, it was best not to let anyone who couldn’t defend themselves get close to her. Half a block away, the blonde leaned against the side of a building, trying to catch her breath and calm her mind. No matter where she went or what she did, he was always out there somewhere, trying to control her. She had orchestrated her escape so carefully, but was it possible J had been playing her the whole time?

A bitter laugh fell from her lips. Of course it was possible. The clown was a brilliant manipulator, and he had crawled so far inside her head he knew her better than she knew herself. All that time she thought she was working towards freedom, and chances were she was simply playing into his hand. The situation might still be salvaged, she just had to figure out what his game was. What lesson was J trying to teach her, by allowing her freedom but not letting her make a new life? Why kill Stefan, who was clearly just a casual flirtation? Her guilt was tinged with disappointment. She hadn’t known he was gay, not that it mattered. She probably wouldn’t have made a move on the guy, after all, he was a barista and she had a Ph.D.

Her and half a dozen other crooks in Gotham. Honestly, something in the dreary air must make the brainy ones go bonkers, it was the only explanation for the level of education amidst the local wackos. Harls absently chewed on the end of one nail as she tried to wrest her attention back to the current issue. What could J possibly be trying to get through to her? She wrinkled her nose. What did it matter? She had no intention of learning any more of his stupid lessons. Spitting the piece of fingernail out on the sidewalk, she stepped into a payphone booth, dropping in a dollar and dialing one of the few numbers she had memorized. She listened to the tinny ringing with baited breath, willing the woman on the other side to pick up, and breathing a sigh of relief when she did.

“Red? It’s Harls. Yah said not tah call yah again unless I really meant it, an’ I definitely do this time. I’ve been out fah two weeks, no contact, an’ tha bastard just killed my damned barista. Can yah believe that? I think I need yah help.” Harley couldn’t help the way her voice trembled as she finished her little tirade. She and Ivy had danced this will she – won’t she dance in regards to leaving J so many times that her friend was getting more than a little fed up. The last time that Quinzel had gone back to the clown, well, Red had more than a few choice words for her pal, and none of them were complimentary.

A low sigh came across the phone line, and the jester allowed herself a shred of hope. “It’s hard to believe you when it comes to that clown,” the vitriol in Pamela’s voice was palpable, “but if you are finally sincere, I would be amiss should I not assist you. Do you have your key to the greenhouse? I haven’t changed the locks since you were last here.” Harley answered in the affirmative, happiness burbling through her. Red was going to help! “Good. Use the east entrance, my precious babies at the west entrance are getting snappish as they enter the adolescent stage.”

With that Isley hung up, never having been one for drawn out goodbyes, and not willing to get tangled up in another of Harley’s meandering conversations. She had a houseguest to prepare for. Quinzel did a half-step of delight, spinning in a circle. Pamela would make it all better. She hated J, and had been plotting his death for years. If anyone could get the clown to leave Harls alone, it was her.